


Lay down easy

by Trojie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel in the Bunker, Comfort Sex, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Human Castiel, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Powers, M/M, Post-Episode: s08e23 Sacrifice, Voice Kink, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-06 23:17:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1112683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Metatron's theft of Cas's grace leaves him without his angelic voice. He can hear his brothers and sisters as they fall, but he can't call out to help them. He finds comfort in being able to help Sam recover from the effects of the trials using his human voice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lay down easy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my hurt comfort bingo 2013 card, prompt 'Loss of voice'. Title from 'Talk to Me' by Nirvana. Canon-AU, post-Sacrifice, established Wincestiel.

Dean bundles Sam into the back of the Impala and God, maybe he thinks Sam's unconscious or something because he strokes Sam's hair back off his face when he pulls away from settling him half-sitting, half-lying on the back seat, and he'd never do that if Sam was awake and alright. Sam nudges his cheek into the palm of Dean's hand for a split second, chasing the comfort, and Dean's breath catches, and maybe there's something there that should be looked at harder, but this isn't the time.

They've got bigger things to worry about, because angels are falling, burning through the sky, and they don't know where Cas is. Thank fuck for cellphone GPS. Thank fuck for whatever it is that dropped him in the continental US. Thank fuck for Dean, Sam thinks woozily, and how he always knows what to do.

Sam zones in and out, focused on Dean's fingers stretched and tapping anxiously against the back of the bench seat in the front of the car. If Sam was sitting where he's supposed to, Dean'd be tapping Sam's shoulder. The GPS beeps every so often, and Dean makes turns hard enough to slew Sam around bonelessly against the Impala's slippery seat, and breaks speed limits. Sam knows he's doing it, Sam knows the feeling of Dean's foot flat on the floor. Sam doesn't care. They have to find Cas. 

Eventually Dean pulls over and yanks his door open, and it lets cold air and outside sounds into the warm cocoon of engine notes and cassette tapes, and Sam jerks fully awake, shocked. There's a horrible noise outside like someone being slowly killed. Sam wishes he didn't know what that sounded like. 

It must be Cas, or Cas must be out there, because Dean's out of the Impala before Sam can even get himself back to a full sitting position. He hauls himself up enough to look out of the window though, because there's no way in Hell he can stand right now, and he has to see, has to reassure himself, or at least _know_ , one way or the other. Some of the fallen angels have landed hard, after all. 

Cas is a pale figure huddled in the middle of a field, clutching his ears, muddied up to his knees and elbows like he landed on all fours in a puddle, and he's yelling. It's not even words, or maybe it's just not English, but it's raw and raspy and it clearly takes all his effort just to get the noise out. Sam watches Dean run, _run_ to Cas and grab him around the waist, haul him up to look him in the eyes. Dean says something and Castiel abruptly stops screaming, pulls his hands away from his head, looking shocked. 

Dean clearly isn't going to risk them being outside any longer than he has to, and he drags Cas to his feet and half-carries him back over to the Impala. Sam straightens up and fumbles for the door handle. 

'Hey, hey, Cas, hey man, c'mon, just a little bit further -' Dean's saying, trying to keep Cas on his feet. 'We gotcha, okay, man, we're here, gonna get back to the bunker and figure out what's going on, but it's okay, we gotcha -' When they make it to the car, Sam's managed to get himself together enough to reach out for Cas, clutch at Cas's shoulders and Dean shifts to guide Cas's hips, so that their angel is sprawled over Sam's chest and damn, he's heavy. 

'Hey,' Sam says, shifting to get his arms around Cas properly. He was screaming, but now Cas has gone so quiet it's freaking Sam out a little, and it's been a pretty fucking freaky forty-eight hours to start with. 'Cas, man, talk to me. Are you hurt?'

Cas shudders and buries his face in Sam's shoulder. Sam tries to pat him down, feeling clumsy, hoping he's not hurting him, but needing to know for sure that there isn't some horrific injury hiding under that goddamn coat. 

'Anything?' Dean asks, watching Sam in the rearview. Sam shakes his head. 

'Feels okay,' he says. 'No broken bones, nothing bleeding, right Cas?' Sam's voice sounds like he's gargled drain cleaner, to his own ears. He swallows hard, trying to force moisture into his throat. 

Cas squirms against him, and then pulls his head up a little. 'I'm fine,' he rasps. 'Sam. I. I am sorry,' he says, and he sounds worse than Sam did. 

'You and me both,' Sam says, to shut _that_ can of worms right down, and kisses him on the temple. 'Tell me what's wrong,' he adds, because something is, he can smell it. Maybe he's not resonating on some celestial frequency any more but he doesn't need to to tell when Cas is off. Dean catches Sam's eye in the rearview again. He can feel it too. 'You were screaming out there, Cas.'

For a moment Cas looks like he's gonna lie, and goddammit but Sam wishes he hadn't picked up that particular Winchester trait, lying when you're hurting. Then he says, 'I've lost my voice.'

He must figure that that doesn't make a lot of sense because he coughs and keeps talking. 'Metatron … he took my grace. I'm human now, to all intents and purposes.'

'Son of a bitch,' Dean growls. 'I'm gonna fillet that fucker with a rusty goddamn knife one of these days.' Sam is so down with that plan.

'And the things that made me an angel, even one that took a vessel,' Cas says, still low and hurting and Sam's willing to bet that only part of that is the pain of a raw, overworked throat, 'are gone. I can hear my brothers and sisters _falling from the sky_ , and they're lost and frightened, many of them have never been to Earth before and I should be able to speak to them, to help them, comfort them, and I can't,' he says, the words crackling out of him. 'All I have is this - this narrow band of frequencies, this ridiculously small set of muscles, and how do I - it's like I'm not me any longer,' he says. 

'You are,' says Sam softly. 'You're here, Cas, you're here. We've got you.'

'How am I supposed to live like this?' Cas asks him, brokenly. 'What good is an angel with no voice?'

Sam just holds him tighter, because it's the only answer he can give. 

Dean, in the driver's seat, swears, and puts his foot down again. 

***

Dean thinks, maybe it's easier for Cas being in the bunker. It's warded against a lot of things, and it seems like maybe he can't hear the other angels so loud here, or something. He seems less twitchy, doesn't stare off into odd corners like he's hearing something on a headset he's not wearing any more. And with Sam all stripped down to his parts from the trials, Dean's glad Cas is around. He sits with Sam and keeps him from going nutso because his body's seized up and it hurts to move around much. Oh, he can walk, just about and very slowly, and he can use the head, and make himself a cup of coffee in the morning, and he'll get better, Dean's pretty sure, but he's not up to all the stuff he used to do, like running and target practice, just yet. He's not even quite up to research - his eyes are swimmy and his head hurts, Dean can read it all over his face. And so he's bored.

Kevin keeps on quietly with the angel tablet and books in the background. Kid drinks too much, but Dean can't judge, and he's simmering-angry, pretty obviously, but he's too smart to start anything with the world as fucked-up as it is now. Dean's pretty sure their pint-sized prophet is planning something, sure, but he's playing a long game. It'll keep.

Meanwhile, Cas reads to Sam. Dean guesses it must help both of them. He can't sit still that long and so he cleans guns and cooks food (probably too much food) and waxes his baby, and tries to get information out of that ginormous dick Crowley, sometimes with Kevin's help and sometimes without, and every time he comes through the library Sam and Cas are sitting close, Cas'll have his head in a book and be murmuring about fuck knows what - the times Dean's gone close enough to hear, it's been Latin poetry (or a really fucked-up exorcism, one of the two), a manual of swordsmanship, some novel about a dude called Shadow who was being tied to a tree while Dean eavesdropped, Dad's journal … damned if Dean knows what the pattern is, if there is one. Maybe Cas is just reading whatever he sees first when he gets up each morning. 

Sam sits there with his eyes half-closed and a little smile on his face, though, and Cas looks calm and kinda Zen, so Dean doesn't interrupt. He still hangs out with Sam in the mornings, because Sam still gets up way too early, hauls himself out of bed to limp around trying to build up his strength while no-one can watch. They enjoy the quiet before Cas or Kevin are up, drinking coffee in the kitchen and stealing warm, bitter coffee-flavoured kisses if they're feeling brave enough that they're not gonna get walked in on. And sometimes Dean'll be pottering around and Cas will be in the room when he turns around, just watching him, the way he does, and he'll smile, and maybe Dean will get a kiss out of that too. 

If he's lucky. 

Dean is hanging out with his right hand a lot at the moment. He's a red-blooded guy, he's gotta clean the pipes regular, but he doesn't wanna push Sam and Cas into anything. They're both getting over pretty massive upsets, in their own ways. They'll let him know when they're ready for some action.

And then one afternoon he's walking down to the armoury, kinda thinking maybe he can kill an hour or so practicing headshots, when he notices that Sam's bedroom door is shut (which is weird), and now that he thinks about it, he hasn't seen his brother or their angel for a little while.

He tries the door handle, and it turns, and as the door opens a crack Dean realises he can hear Cas's deep voice murmuring softly inside the room, in a tone he knows pretty well and hasn't heard in a while, so he pushes fully inside and shuts the door behind him. 

Cas has Sam naked and sitting on the bed, has Sam's dick in his hand, and is leaning against Sam's side, talking at him. It's so like the way they sit together in the library, Cas murmuring poetry and useless trivia and shit, except for their nakedness, and Sam's face, so turned on it shoots through Dean like a lightning bolt. 

Both of them look up at Dean, and Sam's expression turns a little apologetic, and Cas's is just happy. Sam's still thinner than Dean would like, but he's not peach-bruised all over any more, and the longer Dean looks at him - at them together - the less he's worrying about their health and the more he's thinking about how long it's been since they were all together. He wants to get over there. But he doesn't want to get in the middle of whatever it is they're doing, doesn't want to ruin the way they look together. 

'Mind if I sit?' he asks, sort of shrugging at the chair in front of Sam's desk. 

'Go ahead,' says Cas. 'I was just telling Sam how good he looks,' he rumbles, and fuck, Sam goes this shade of red Dean's not sure he's ever seen on his brother before. Cas starts up stroking Sam's dick again, nosing at Sam's cheek and keeping eye contact with Dean. 'He's been very patient, and I know it's hard for him. It's frustrating, when your body isn't as you remember it,' Cas says. 

Sam says _'Cas,'_ almost like a protest. 

Cas hushes him, kisses him at the corner of his bitten-red mouth, and keeps talking. 'I was saying,' he says to Dean as if they're having a conversation. 'I think soon we'll be able to be together again. He's getting stronger every day. And I miss the feel of him inside me.' Dean sucks in a sharp breath, remembering what that looks like, and Cas smiles. 'I miss both of you that way, and I miss being inside you, too. Miss being with you that way. We can't rush the healing process,' he says, his hand still sliding up and down Sam's cock at the same slow, careful pace, Sam's breath whining between his teeth and his body flexing like he wants to thrust up and can't quite get everything to work the way he wants it. 'But we can, I think, be a little more adventurous.'

Dean decides he can be on board with 'adventurous', and unzips his fly. Cas's expression turns wicked for a moment. 

'Are you happy to watch us?' he asks. 

'Shit, yeah,' Dean says, pulling his dick out. 'This is your show, Cas, I can respect that.' And he can enjoy it, too. His downright impressive porn collection ought to tell anyone looking for a clue about him just how much he likes to watch. And he _really_ likes to watch Cas with Sam.

Cas is usually pretty fucking hands-on, and watching him manhandle Sam cranks Dean's engine like crazy. All that angel strength in that tight, compact body, taking care of Sammy's needs, and Sam's needs have always been pretty physical, let's put it that way. But now Sam's fragile, and Cas is just touching him softly, and talking, and that's just as good.

Dean fists his dick, leans back in the chair, and savours it. They must have been at this for a while, cos Sammy's clearly at the end of his rope.

'That's good,' Cas tells Sam, as Sam bucks and shakes. 'Shh, just let me. Do you remember when I tied you down to that motel bed in Arkansas?' he asks. 'It was so beautiful, seeing you leashed for us like that. I could have watched Dean's mouth on you for hours. Loved how you moved against your bonds. Loved how you let me in, Sam. How you always let me in.'

Sam whines through his open mouth, turns his head to nudge against Cas's neck. Cas's free hand strokes his hair. 

'Do you want to come?' Cas asks him fondly, voice deep and warm and so fucking turned on it's making Dean leak like a faucet, would be making him hot for it even if he couldn't see what it was doing for Sam. 

'God, yes,' Sam breathes into Cas's skin. 

'You can come whenever you want,' Cas says. 'Just let it go, Sam. I'm here. Dean's here. We'll take care of you. Come, Sam. Come for us,' and his fingers are barely a loose circle around Sam's dick now but Sam's eyes snap shut and he comes so, so hard that Dean can see his toes curling. 

Dean feels almost hypnotised, jerking himself frantically, not wanting to be left behind, and Cas is kind of pushing up against Sam's hip, almost unconsciously, as he tells Sam he's so beautiful and so good all the way through his orgasm, every word pulling out another spurt of come, Sam breathing in time with Cas's murmuring and Dean strippping his dick and realising Cas is pretty much untouched. 

Looking at him though, maybe that's the point, or … or it doesn't matter. It's the talking that matters, Dean thinks, and the sex-logic adds up because fucked if he can remember ever finding something more sexual than Cas's voice right now, growling into Sam's ear as he comes down panting and squirming. And so when Sam's breathing's evening out and Cas's vague humping is getting more like it's deliberate, Dean pipes up with 'Tell me how it feels, Cas,' and Cas full-on shudders. 

'Good,' he rasps.

'You can do better than that,' Dean says. 'Talked Sammy off his ledge there, c'mon Cas, tell me how it really feels. Know you wanna. Look at me,' he says, and he shifts in his seat so the fly of his jeans parts just that little bit more, gives Cas a better view. 'See what you're doing to me too? And you look so fucking hot for it, man, so c'mon, tell me how it feels.'

'Powerful,' Cas gasps, as Sam half-rolls into him with a groan, gives him more to rub against. _Attaboy, Sammy,_ Dean thinks with some pride. 'I'm - I can be, be useful,' he stutters. 'Help Sam - oh, _oh_ \- help him heal even though - even though I'm not an -'

Cas coming all over Sam's already slick-streaked abs is enough to make Dean's eyes roll back in his head and send him off too into the palm of his hand. He realises too late he's ruined his t-shirt, that he's knocked shit off Sam's desk, and he doesn't care because holy shit. _Holy shit._.

Sam's the one talking now, he realises when the buzzing in his ears fades, curled awkwardly around Cas's sobbing, panting body and holding his face and saying 'doesn't matter _what_ you are,' fiercely, kissing Cas over and over in between words. 'You're still _Cas_ , you're still ours and you're still _good_ , fucking righteous and strong and jeez, Cas, I'd'a gone nuts the last few weeks without you. You helped me, and when we're all ready to, we're gonna get out there and help other people too, you know that. It doesn't matter what we are,' Sam growls, and Dean's gut clenches, because how often has he heard that mantra? 'It only matters what we do.'

Cas nods shakily, forehead pressed up against Sam's, one eye still on Dean, and for the first time since the church, the silence that falls is a good one.


End file.
